Collapsing Birds
Beneath shadows Of Spring Mountains The rain dove arcs Across a barren sky, Its trembling shadow Rolling listlessly Above abandoned towns Of silver and gold,
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Beneath shadows Of Spring Mountains The rain dove arcs Across a barren sky, Its trembling shadow Rolling listlessly Above abandoned towns Of silver and gold,
You sit there coarsely oscillating, Calling to us through the ether Beneath a blanket of stars. You swim against the tide, Pass a tent of